In Between
Parable
Elena arrived at the venue just as the rain began to fall. The building buzzed with music, voices, and familiarity—yet something about it felt different, as though she were returning to a place she once knew, but no longer belonged to in the same way. Beside her stood Mara, confident and unbothered by the line stretching down the sidewalk. A sign near the door explained that only certain people could enter freely now. The rest would have to wait. Elena read it twice.
“I’ll be right back,” Mara said, slipping past the crowd and inside without hesitation. Elena tried to follow, but Mara moved too fast, swallowed by the building before Elena could catch up. So she waited, listening to instructions she wasn’t sure applied to her, watching people gather in places she hadn’t been told she could stand. Inside the doorway, Elena spotted a woman adjusting her clothes. For a moment, Elena thought she recognized her and called out a name—but when the woman turned, Elena realized her mistake. She apologized, embarrassed by how closely familiarity had mimicked truth.
Looking down, Elena noticed she was wearing only one sandal. The other lay outside in a muddy puddle. Rain soaked the ground, and for a moment she hesitated—but she stepped out anyway, retrieved it, and wiped it clean. Only then did she realize the second sandal had been in her hand the entire time. She returned to the door. Suddenly, Mara burst out of the building, clutching her head, tears streaming down her face. She ran into the street and disappeared into the rain. Elena called after her, but Mara never turned back.
A man in a red shirt stood in front of Elena, short in stature, wearing a badge that granted him access. Without meaning to, Elena leaned over him while scrolling on her phone. He gently pointed it out. She apologized. “This food is for someone called Fred,” he said. “Who?” Elena asked. Before she could ask again, a woman came to escort him inside. “Tell Fred I said hello,” Elena said, then paused. “Tell him Elena Rivers said hello.” The woman nodded, as if the name mattered.
Inside, a long corridor stretched before them, sloping downward like a passage between worlds. Two windows offered tickets—one obvious, one quieter—but Elena moved too fast to read the second. She felt the pressure of people behind her, watching, following. To move quicker, she climbed onto a rolling platform and let gravity pull her forward. At first it felt efficient. Then she realized she had no way to stop. She thought through her options—crashing, catching herself, rolling off. She chose the fall.
When she stood again, she was in an apartment that looked like hers, but wasn’t. Familiar, but altered.
Later, Elena found herself caring for a sleeping baby named Peace—someone else’s child, entrusted to her for a moment. A man nearby claimed the child was his, but his actions didn’t match his words. When Elena stepped away, expecting him to watch over the baby, he didn’t. Others stepped in instead—quietly, without blame. And when Elena returned, Peace was safe.
Devotional
Scripture Reflection:
“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” — Isaiah 43:19
There are seasons when familiar doors no longer open the way they once did. Places we used to enter freely now require waiting, discernment, and humility. This does not mean we’ve been rejected—it means we’ve been repositioned.
Elena’s journey reflects what it feels like to live in the in-between: no longer who you were, not yet fully settled into who you’re becoming. In these moments, discernment becomes more important than speed. Not every familiar face is who we think it is. Not every open door is ours to rush through.
The missing sandal reminds us that sometimes we believe we’ve lost our footing when, in truth, God has already placed what we need within reach. We step into mud not because we’re careless, but because obedience sometimes requires discomfort.
Mara’s departure teaches us a hard truth: everyone who starts with us can’t finish with us. Some people leave not because we failed them, but because the journey demands something they’re not ready to carry.
The rolling platform reminds us that acceleration without control can feel thrilling at first—but wisdom knows when to step off, even if the landing is hard.
And the child named Peace? Peace is precious. Peace is fragile. Peace must be protected. We are sometimes entrusted with things that aren’t ours to keep—but are ours to steward well.
God often sends help quietly. Support doesn’t always look like who we expected. And grace does not accuse—it simply covers.
Prayer
God, help me recognize when You are doing a new thing.
Teach me when to wait, when to move, and when to step away.
Sharpen my discernment so I do not confuse familiarity with truth.
Give me the courage to let go of what cannot follow me forward,
and the wisdom to protect what You’ve entrusted to my care.
Amen.